


Slithering Darkness

by AriesOrion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Antagonistic!SI, SI as Tom Riddle, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 07:29:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4951795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AriesOrion/pseuds/AriesOrion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom Riddle had unlimited potential, only tempered and twisted by his crippling fear of death. Luckily this wasn't his story anymore and subsequently the future writes itself anew. After all in this life where strength equaled survival, and weakness equaled death – failure was no option. Antagonistic!SI, SI as Tom Riddle</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slithering Darkness

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters. That honor belongs solely to J.K. Rowling. I don't make any kind of money or profit out of this story; it is purely for my reader's enjoyment.

General Warnings: Antagonistic!SI, SI as Tom Riddle, AU, Violence in later chapters

Summary: Tom Riddle had unlimited potential, only tempered and twisted by his crippling fear of death. Luckily this wasn't his story anymore and subsequently the future writes itself anew. After all in this life where strength equaled survival, and weakness equaled death – failure was no option. Antagonistic!SI, SI as Tom Riddle

Chapter 1: Tom Marvolo Riddle: Early years

The general consensus in the St Wool's orphanage was that Tom Marvolo Riddle was a boy unlike any other. He was such a smart lad, always helpful and so very respectful – the perfect little boy. With his midnight black hair and dark stormy blue eyes, fine skin and high cheekbones – he was the prince that every young girls in the orphanage always imagined coming to save them when listening to the fantastic bed-time stories.

Tom Riddle was perfect in the eye of every single person who came across him. Such an angel, some would whisper, while others nodded enthusiastically – after all no one who knew Tom Riddle could fault him in any way.

His strange behavior when he was still a baby was soon forgotten, blamed on an overactive imagination. How once awake his eyes would remain open, observing his surroundings with unmatched curiosity and a frightening focus belonging solely to him. How he would only cry when he was hungry or needed a change of diapers – how sometimes his eyes would seemingly narrow in concentration or how adverse he was to spending time among other babies.

Amanda Cole, the matron of the orphanage did not believe herself to be a superstitious person. Regardless of her rather realistic outlook upon life, aided by the misery she saw each and every single day – she was still deeply religious. She still remembered Tom's mother, stumbling upon their doorstep in the middle of the night on New Year's Eve, body frail and upon the cusp of giving birth. Amanda had already given up on both the baby and the mother, but against all odds the birth had been successful even if the mother did not survive. Tom Riddle had been a strong baby – uncommonly healthy in those times – with a fine pair of lungs that screamed his survival to the world upon the crux of the old year exactly when the clock struck twelve.

She had been sure it was an omen, and now a little more than half a decade later she was completely sure it was a good one.

After all, Tom Riddle was an angel and could do absolutely no wrong. Anything else was simply the figment of an overzealous imagination.

{1}

Tom Marvolo Riddle knew from his infancy on that he was undoubtedly special. After all how many people remembered a previous life and its subsequent ending? He still remembered the pain as the pullet tore through his body mercilessly, the frustrating – bitter – helplessness as he could only lay in his own pool of blood, desperate but too weak.

He had been in the way of an assassination attempt on his father – a corrupt but relatively major politician who made too few friends and too many enemies. It did not surprise him that his pathetic father was the cause of his ultimate death the one time he had actually deigned to visit him in a few years.

He had woken up, confused and furious – because what gave them the right? – wailing desperately as he was cleaned of something wet and sticky. It was only when he saw the exhausted and clearly dying form of the woman who had just given birth to him that he had calmed down, enough to hear her last words.

Her last words naming him Tom Marvolo Riddle, after his father and maternal grandfather apparently.

Tom Riddle who was exceptionally intelligent and magically powerful.

Tom Riddle who eventually became Lord Voldemort.

Tom Riddle who died at the hands of Harry Potter.

His baby brain – too undeveloped to function to the proper capacity – had promptly shut down, before slowly during the next few days all the possibilities had accumulated in his mind – at this time too busy warding off the constant need to sleep to be able to think logically.

Tom Riddle had unlimited potential. Potential which he had only ruined by his overwhelming fear of death that made him split his soul several times, eventually causing him to become absolutely insane – insane enough to lose against Harry Potter of all people.

A child who was too busy playing hero to actually learn about the world he was coming into.

His personality and life experience was what made him identify himself with Tom Riddle when he read the series for the first time. They had been rather similar and back then; he had desperately wished that he could also use magic to pursue his goals.

He was Tom Riddle now; he could script the game anew, trying to prevent the mistakes that the former Tom Riddle had made in his ignorance and anger. He would not waste the opportunity right before him. Hadn't it been his dream to rid the world of those too unworthy – those who were useless and too weak – and now he had the power to do so.

Power which he had previously lacked.

He had started with trying to locate what made Tom Marvolo Riddle so very special in the first place – his overwhelming magic. After frustrating and endlessly tiring months in which he was also trying to gain control over his new baby body, he had finally felt a spark of something when his anger at his constant failure reached its peak.

His magic.

What followed where a year of boredom, extreme mental discipline and a fight against the limitations of his small form – but eventually he succeeded and he was able to constantly feel that small warm spark inside of him.

Tom Riddle despised the orphanage. It was too small, dirty and dingy and he was sure that without his magic he wouldn't be as healthy as he was now. Still, being feared by the matron and children had been what put the original Tom Riddle on Dumbledore's radar – and he would not make the same mistake.

Instead he started behaving like a small angel. As he grew, he began offering help to others who were not as advanced as he was – smiling kindly at everyone. Children were just so easy to manipulate – their personality was not yet formed and there were enough holes in their mentality that Tom could slip in and insert himself as being trustworthy.

After all, they could not know of the twisted thoughts churning angrily in his mind.

He had done the same thing in his former life after all, playing a role that was not him. Tom Riddle soon became the paragon of kindness and compassion, an angel that deigned to grace their unworthy lives with his mere presence. While internally he was laughing at their cluelessness and the sheer dichotomy, he always made sure to be polite and respectful, doing his best to please as many people as possible.

This was an experiment after all.

The children soon worshipped him as he continued to protect them against other children from outside of the orphanage, and the adult couldn't help but love the polite orphan that kept his fellow children out of trouble.

Tom Riddle was untouchable.

Just as he had planned when he was still too young to move or speak.

Magic soon became his obsession. It was fascinating how the small warmth inside of him could be the cause of so many amazing things. From mundane chores to immortality – magic could make everything possible.

He soon found out that either all wizards were incompetent or that he was merely superior because to him magic came as easy as breathing once he reached a certain age. His magic seemed to be so much more reachable once he became older – it was soon always buzzing beneath his skin, ready for his next command.

He could make people trust him even further by making his magic calm and peaceful, or make adults cower before him in submission by projecting his anger. He had actually ventured out of the orphanage once in the night, and searched for one of the many homeless. Days of meticulous planning had gone into it, after all he had no intention of spoiling the game so soon into its start – and being discovered by anyone really would do exactly that.

It was such a shame that he had been found dead a few days later, body already decomposing. Tom would have liked to experiment a little more.

No one would miss him – and Tom Riddle had used that fact. He was a psychopath and he knew it. The only difference from his previous life was that now he could get away with it. He had been in the public eye, the prodigal son of a politician, majoring in both political science and psychology in order to follow his father's footsteps.

No one knew that he used what he learned about the human psyche by slowly driving one of the girls who had been in love with his slowly insane. That poor girl had actually tried to commit suicide after only three months. Still, he had been restricted during that life – but Tom Riddle was restricted only by his power and imagination. He had both in spades.

He had power – and in the end those who had power ruled over those who had none.

Darwinism was the truth of this world, and Tom had no hesitation in abusing that notion. It wasn't his fault that none could match him – and it certainly wasn't his fault if none could stop him.

After all, Tom Riddle was an angel and in the eyes of everyone who knew him - he could do no wrong.

{2}

Tom climbed out of his small bed, expression faintly disgusted as he took in his small room. He was glad that he would be turning eleven in a few months. He already couldn't wait to escape this hellhole for at least ten months a year.

He was better than those little ants trying to bask in his glory. Sometimes he imagined what kind of face they would make once they realized that they were like moths flying too close to the burning and brilliant flame that would at some point cruelly swallow them whole.

It would certainly be rather amusing and at least stave off his boredom for a while.

At times, it was tiring to continue smiling while he wished nothing more than to kill them slowly for daring to talk to him that familiarly. Arrogance was dangerous – but Tom Riddle was aware of his own superiority. He was beautiful, nothing than those other snot-nosed brats, he was brilliant and powerful and soon enough he would learn even more magic.

While he could practice with his raw magic, it wasn't the same as having magical theory that actually explained his gift. He could levitate books, transfigure smaller and even larger objects – but other pieces of magic firmly remained out of his reach.

He could repair and clean his clothes, even do several pieces of magic at the same time – but it was so frustrating to fail that he had to consciously hold himself back from letting out his anger on others.

His newest objective was the prerequisite to learning Occlumency. The whole process seemed to be reliant on an actual teacher or other aids, so Tom had reluctantly settled with meditation and the ever ambiguous goal to successfully clear his mind.

It was simply maddening because while he thought that he was succeeding and becoming more aware of his mind, he couldn't be sure and it was driving him to new heights of irritability. Hopefully he could at least detect a Legilimancy probe by now.

Suppressing an uncharacteristic snarl – after all Tom Riddle did not snarl – he completed his morning absolutions and plastered his customary fake smile on his face before he silently glided down the old wooden stairs.

No one but Mrs. Cole would be awake at this hour, and Tom often used it to further his own skills in manipulation. It was after all more difficult to manipulate an adult, than it was with a child even if not by far.

Still he couldn't underestimate Albus Dumbledore.

He would be his biggest obstacle in charming both teachers and students alike. His word after all already carried a great deal of weight even without Grindelwald's defeat added to his fame.

Stepping through the empty door space, Tom eased his facial expression slightly into what he knew looked like slight embarrassment, before he hesitantly called out to the matron.

''Mrs. Cole, do you require any assistance?''

The elderly woman turned around with a genuine bright smile that made Tom want to sneer, obviously delighted to see him. Her hair had already turned grey years ago – and the pronounced wrinkles made her age look that much more apparent.

He would never allow himself to look that weak and frail.

''No, Tom, my dear boy. I am almost finished with breakfast. But could you please make sure the other children are awake?''

Tom nodded obediently, already expecting the request. With a quick affirmative, he moved back towards the stairs, stepping around the creaking spots with practiced ease as he approached the row of doors. He was the only one who had a private room because of course Tom Riddle was the one who deserved it most. The decision had been unanimous – and showed just how far in his grasp the children were when none protested. Children in orphanages during this time were normally entirely too selfish and greedy to grant other children anything. But he was Tom Riddle – enough said.

He knocked on the first door, opening it slowly as he called a cheerful good morning at the groaning duo of children.

''Morning, Tom.'' One boy called back, looking at him with lidded but devoted eyes and it made something inside of him want to break that little trusting boy. But it wasn't time for that yet.

''Please get up, soon. You know how Mrs. Cole is.'' Tom teased good-naturedly, before closing the door firmly behind him. Only ten more rooms, and after breakfast he could see what his little friends had managed to bring back this time.

Breakfast was usually a relatively quiet affair, everyone too tired to muster up any real energy. Tom smiled politely, accepted the gratitude from the matron graciously – because Tom Riddle was nothing if not humble – before he excused himself to go outside.

He had been curious about his Parseltongue ability, and had experimented with its limitations. Non-magical snakes should from a biological and logical standpoint be entirely unable to actually have a proper conversation – but for some reason their small brain did not play a role when he spoke to them.

According to one small adder, commands of a speaker had to be fulfilled to the best of a snake's capabilities, even if the end result was death. They seemed to leach of his magic which he noticed he emitted when speaking Parseltongue, temporarily making them more intelligent and able to follow complex instructions.

For example, he had sent several snakes out to find him the quickest way to the Leaky Cauldron, and one small Grass snake had actually to his immense surprise succeeded a few weeks ago. She had been able to find it by trying to sense an influx of magic since it was the gateway from the muggle world. He had sent another snake out ten days ago and if everything went correctly she should be back by now.

He had ordered her to remember important landmarks, so that he could revisit Diagon Alley by himself at some point, without having to rely on any professor. Allowing himself to be escorted once was no matter how annoying a necessity for his cover – but not having a way to return on his own would be a folly on his part. And he would undoubtedly return after the dear Professor's visit – because if his guess was correct then it would ease his acceptance into the Noble House of Slytherin exponentially.

The dry ground crunched beneath his feet as he approached a group of small trees behind the building. It was where the snakes usually waited for the honor of being allowed to execute his next command.

Their eagerness was simply adorable.

Leaning against the bark, out of sight of the orphanage, Tom allowed his mask to slip, and the constant smile to leave his face.

His dark blue eyes were narrowed, his lips firm and straight as his whole visage suddenly changed from that of an innocent angel to that of a cruel demon.

''My dear one, have you completed your mission?'' He hissed quietly, not surprised when a small body curled itself around his feet lovingly.

''Of course, speaker. I have done as you have commanded.''

Tom smiled, small but for once genuine as he picked up the small snake, and let it curl around his throat. He was in no danger after all. Snakes would never dare harm him and if any tried, his magic would protect him and eradicate the threat.

''Well done, tell me, my dear one how to reach my destination.''

Tom smirked wickedly, as plans began to form inside his brilliant mind. Everything would start on his eleventh birthday and he couldn't suppress his eagerness anymore.

This time, Tom Riddle would be victorious.

Failure was no option, no matter what he had to do in order to achieve his goals.


End file.
